Draco and Hermione: a tale of contradictions
by evey5
Summary: The story is set two years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione and Draco have an unlikely meeting in the Ministry of Magic, where they learn they're working in the same department. This is during the time Ron and Hermione have stopped talking to each other, due to a serious fight. Where there's friction, there's sparks. It's my first, so I hope you like it. Feedback appreciated!
1. Beginnings

1.

"Well to be honest Harry, right now, I _really_ couldn't care less-"

"I didn't ask you to care, or even respond, really, I'm just passing on a message-"

"You can tell Ron that-"

"_Hermione_. If anyone's telling Ron anything, it's going to be you. Okay?" Harry's voice sounded muffled through the wires of the telephone. In a lighter, cautiously teasing tone, he added, "I'm not an owl."

Loosening her grip on the handset, Hermione smiled, for the first time in weeks.

"Oh ha ha. Very clever."

Harry chuckled at the end of the line, and then sighed.

"Everything seems like it happened ages ago, doesn't it?"

"It should. Two years is a long time. And honestly…I'd be happy to forget a lot of things."

There was an awkward silence on the line, as if their unsaid nightmares were flitting between the lines of their conversation.

"How's Ginny?"

"Yeah, everything's great. I think I've got Arthur and Molly's blessings if we marry, which still leaves Ron, who's behaving like an arse about it for fun-"

There was a small pause, where he realized the mistake of mentioning Ron's name, but then he ploughed on, "George is…well. You can guess. Nothing much has changed. Angelina's coming down more often, I think her cousin moved to Spinner's End, so it's easy for her to get to the Burrow. She keeps him company a lot. Nothing much else, really. Gnomes are as fearless as ever, but they're never noisy or annoying around Teddy, I think they're fond of him. Andromeda's having a tough time, he hates his baby food. I think he misses you, there's no one to explain NEWT level Arithmancy in a falsetto to him anymore-"

"Oh shut up, it's how I talk to babies, don't be mean," Hermione laughed. Oh god, laughing. It felt good, and free.

"How about your parents?"

"Ahh, they're great. I think Mum's baking, for the first time in years. She really dotes on you and- well. Umm. Dad keeps bringing up his tan lines again and again, they won't go, and he has no idea how they got there. I should've picked a colder place. Maybe Stockholm"

"You know, what you did for them, it's…I can't even find words. I still think about it, and…I never told you, really, but it's one of the bravest things I've ever seen."

Hermione remained silent.

Harry continued, "Look…he misses you like hell. I can tell. He mopes around more, and he gets all quiet when he thinks no one's looking. For what it's worth, everyone would be happier if you stopped by the Burrow sometime. Sorted things out with him."

"I'll…think about it. I don't know."

"Okay. That's okay. Take all the time you need. Say hi to Dr. and Dr. Granger from me." She hated how he sounded so worried for her.

"I will. Give my love to Ginny and all."

"Bye. Take care, yeah?" She put down the handset with a click.

"Sweetheart? I left my oven gloves in the dining room, could you fetch them for me?"

"Coming, mum." With a sigh, Hermione uncurled her legs and got down from the sofa.

2.

Hermione entered the Atrium, still staring at her feet. The novelty of flushing herself to work hadn't worn off. She then made her way towards the elevators.

"Second level, please," she said to the man inside with her as she got into the lift, before taking a second look.

Draco pressed the number '2', and hesitantly said, "Hello."

Hermione didn't say anything for several moments, and then smiled. It looked more like a grimace.

"I'm headed up to Law Enforcement too…I mean, just trying out a place in the Squad."

"Shouldn't be too different from the old days, then," she said coolly.

"Look, Granger, I-"

"Second level, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said the disembodied voice.

The grates slid open, and Hermione got out, with a brisk pace. Draco caught up with her quickly.

"Hermione."

She stopped.

"Look Malfoy, I don't know what you want, but you can stop overcompensating or whatever it is you're doing, okay? It's the past, it's over, you don't have to feel the need to- I don't know- _greet_ me whenever you see me, and we can just-"

"Hermione." He said her name again, firmer.

"_What?_", she said, exasperated.

"I was wondering if we could meet sometime. Maybe this weekend? I wanted to talk."

Stunned, Hermione kept looking at him. He'd cropped his white-blond hair, and he's become taller. More muscular. His eyes were as grey as ever. And though his features were still sharp and pointed, there was something softer and different about him. In the way he talked, and how he looked at her.

Before even thinking about it rationally, she found herself saying, "Where?"

Draco's shoulders relaxed, and he said, "There's a pub near St James that serves good Butterbeer, or we could-"

"Alright," she cut him off. "Fix a time, send me a memo. You know," and here, she looked at him again, this time curiously, "I should've asked 'why'. Not 'where'. Because I have no idea what this is about. But I guess I'll find out soon enough."

He nodded. "Thank you, for this. Really."

Hermione frowned as she watched him turn and walk off in the opposite direction.

Harry was waiting for her in her cubicle when she entered the Auror Office. She hugged him, and said, "You won't believe who I just saw- Draco! Apparently he's trying out a job with the MLE Squad, and he-" She stopped as she registered the look on Harry's face. "You _knew_?"

Clearly uncomfortable, Harry shrugged. "He reached out to me a few weeks back, asked if there were any openings in Law Enforcement. He told me he did a security stint in Germany for our embassy there-"

"_What_?"

"- and I referred him to Langley. They're experiencing a shortage of Squad members, and his credentials were actually pretty good, so yeah."

"Brilliant. Just brilliant. And you didn't think of telling me?"

"Do you have a problem with him?" he asked Hermione bluntly.

"Well-not exactly. No. But look at the history all of us share, is it healthy to-"

A lavender memo zoomed into the cubicle and settled on her desk.

"Busy already?" Seeing Hermione about to start again, he said "Look, I know what you mean, and I agree. But I think he's changed- in fact, I reckon you probably saw a bit of that too, and it's not fair to keep prosecuting him for the terrible things he did when we were at Hogwarts. He left his parents, he really tried to do things on his own, and in a way, and I can admire that. I'm not saying we're going to be the best of chums, I never did- there's too much history, I agree. But-" and here Harry lowered his voice, "-I won't diminish the things Voldemort did to him after Lucius went to Azkaban, or the many times he was on the edge, wanting to help us but unable to find a way to."

Hermione gave him a disbelieving look. "Fine. Alright. Actually, I also wanted to tell you that he- never mind. Nothing. Did you get Cressida's report on the troll skirmish? I'm thinking whoever let it loose must've been quite intelligent, because there's no sign of…"

Their conversation trailed all the way to Harry's cubicle, where Hermione left and began to get on with her work. It was a slow day. Mostly paperwork came her way. By noon, she was almost done with everything, and just needed to send in additional notes on the draft of a Hazardous Jinxes Prevention Act. That's when she decided to do what she'd been avoiding all day- open the memo and respond to it. Reluctantly, she unfolded the paper plane, and read 'Reid wants you on Level 4 as soon as you're free, we need an Auror down at the Goblin Liaison Office. –Maeve'

Frustrated at her own unexpected immaturity in something as simple as the opening of a memo, she crumpled it and headed towards the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

By the end of the evening, when wizards and witches were leaving in droves out through the fireplaces and elevators, Hermione came back to her cubicle to check if she had all her things.

'_Accio coat'_, and her coat unhooked itself off a nearby stand. She grabbed it, and then noticed another lavender memo on her desk. She shoved her wand into her pocket, and picked up the memo.

'5:30 pm? Reply if you're not free at that time this Saturday. –Draco'

She briefly ran her fingertips over his spiky handwriting, and the green ink. And then paused.

Hermione wondered if she was going mad.


	2. Conversation & Butterbeer

3.

Hermione inspected herself in the mirror. She was wearing a simple white blouse with black trousers, and carrying her beaded purse. Her hair had grown out over the years, and the bushiness had been relatively straightened out by the weight of it. She tied it into a loose ponytail, and flipped it to the front. Decent enough.

"-and I don't like this idea of getting 'your own place', what does that mean-"

Both the Dr. Grangers were still lecturing her from down the stairs.

"It means, mum, that I'll eventually have to stop living off you! I've been an adult for two years-"

Hermione's father's measured voice cut across, "We don't really think this adult-at-seventeen business is right, either. Oh."

Hermione came down the stairs, high-heels in hand.

"You're going out?"

"Yes. Can we talk about this later?"

"Okay."

Hermione stepped outside into the backyard, and when she was sure no neighbors could be watching, she took out her wand and disapparated.

With a crack, she opened her eyes in the Ladies' Toilet of a run-down, Muggle café. She pushed past the door, and Draco was already waiting, outside the Gent's. He was dressed in conspicuous, dark green wizard robes, and a pot bellied Muggle gave him a surprised look as he walked past into the restroom.

"Really? Wizard robes?"

He ignored her comment, and said, "Shall we?"

Together, they walked through the locked door that said, "Staff Only", and emerged on the other side in another, small and crowded pub. It was one of the few magical establishments that were situated right in the Muggle world, and although Hermione had only heard of it, she'd never been here.

"Let's find a table."

He led her to the corner, where there was a small, rickety table for two. The place was cramped, but warm. The chatter of surrounding wizards and witches filled the air. They sat down and looked at each other, awkwardly.

After ordering two Butterbeers, Draco cleared his throat.

"Look," he said carefully, "I want to talk for a bit. And just hear me out."

"Fine."

"I wanted to meet you so that I'd be sure everything is…alright between us. You were right, it is the past- it doesn't excuse my behavior, but hopefully it means I get the chance to be…not as bad as I was. Before. We're working in the same department now, and our history is terrible. And I want to change that."

"Mudbloods are suddenly good enough for you? But wearing Muggle clothes might be stretching it a bit, I agree…" Hermione bit her lip as soon as she said it, but didn't try to take back the words. There was silence.

"You wouldn't get it."

"Try me."

"Look…" Draco ran his thumb over his upper lip, as he thought about his next words. He had nice lips. They were thin, but firm. Mentally, Hermione shook her head. Was she really noticing Draco's _lips_?

"The pure-blood-supremacy ideology isn't something that you…figure out on your own. It's taught to you by your environment, and passed down to you by your family. Like…racism?"

"Yes," Hermione said, taken aback.

"So, after…all that happened, most of the people who were close to me were either in hiding, or dead. It takes the absence of influence like that to really, fully realize that what you were acting on was not even real belief, just…sycophancy. And it's hit me hard. I…" He paused, and continued, in a low and bitter voice, "I actually saw You-Know-Who kill her. The Muggle Studies teacher, Charity Burbage. And…it should've struck me then. Nothing is worth that. I was…deluded, to say the least. It's very easy to think about killing, think you're prepared for it- but to try and take the life from someone in front of you, or to even see it happen…I wouldn't wish it on anyone. It's just wrong. _I _was wrong. About everything."

He bowed his head.

'I don't pretend to understand the extent to which I was a bastard to you, Potter, Weasley and everyone else…but I do know I was. A bastard, that is. And an apology would be inadequate to the point of hilarity, but…I have to try, don't I? To show you that I have, however small the amount, changed?" There was a foreign ring to his voice, a note of pleading. "I deserve it, though. The jibes. The reference to the Inquisitorial Squad under Umbridge, in the lift, and all the things I've called you…"

"Well," Hermione added impulsively, "to be fair, I did have the great pleasure of punching you in our third year." She didn't know why she said that- all she knew what that some part of her wanted- no, needed- to alleviate the pain he was feeling.

Draco abruptly grinned. "I remember that," he said, ruefully stroking his nose.

There was more silence. Hermione tried to reconfigure everything she'd though she knew about Malfoy, into this man sitting before her…whose company was, astonishingly- bearable.

"Why Harry, Malfoy?"

"What?"

"Why did you reach out to Harry, for the job?"

"Oh…" Draco sighed heavily. And then, as if steeling himself to say something against his will, he grimaced and said, "He's always been decent to everyone. And me, especially, when I least deserved it. After what happened in the Room of Requirement…he had every right to hate and spite me, but he still saved me. So… when I figured I should come back to England, settle and find a job…he was the only one I knew who was working in the Ministry. My surname isn't exactly fit for name-dropping these days. And…he was normal about it. He came through. I'm grateful. But I think we'd both prefer distance from each other, all the same."

Two floating Butterbeers landed with a clunk on their table, and snapped them back to reality. For several moments, mugs in hand, they sipped.

"You left your parents." It was a statement, more than a question, but Draco answered it anyway.

"Yes. I didn't leave them like…abandoning them, in any way. I kept in touch regularly, through owls obviously…but yes, I wanted to experience the world on my terms, not on my parents. I was sick of having been coddled." He lifted his pointed chin slightly, as if daring Hermione to laugh. She didn't.

"I travelled Europe mostly…on one occasion I stayed with the cousin of another backpacker wizard I met, in Bangkok…that was only for a few days. I then worked freelance at the Magical British Embassy in Germany…and then I came back here."

"Isn't your Manor quite far from this place?"

And in the brief pause between her question and Draco's answer, both seemed to recall Hermione's last visit to the Malfoy Manor- her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Yeah, it is…but I'm not living there anymore. I got a place of my own."

"Wow."

More silence.

"So…how are things for you these days?" he asked, half-muttering.

"Umm. Complicated. Busy."

Draco scowled. "I get that in all probability, the idea of opening up to me is disgusting. But you could appreciate the fact that that is exactly what I've done to you, here…and it wasn't easy. So the least you could do is be truthful, if not detailed."

Hermione pursed her lips, and stared at her Butterbeer mug.

Finally, she said, "It's…not bad. Talking to you. But if I really wanted to vent about things to you…it'd be weird. You wouldn't get it."

"Try me." He echoed her. "Actually," he added, "if it's the usual feminine claptrap about romance, you should probably keep it to yourself."

Shocked, her mouth fell open.

"Draco Malfoy, you are the most insufferable, rude-"

"I was right! It is some issue like that!" Smirking slightly, he leaned back in his chair. The effect was maddening- on the one hand, it brought back all the repulsive memories of the arrogant Draco from Hogwarts. On the other hand, in the dim pub setting, it was alarmingly…attractive.

"Well? Is it Weasley?"

Frigidly, Hermione attempted to push the table forward and stand up, when Draco caught her wrist. Hermione felt something flutter in her stomach; he left it as suddenly as he had grasped it, and said, "C'mon Hermione. It was a joke."

"Well, your sense of humor is bullshit then," she said fiercely.

"I only said it to get a rise out of you. It's easy…you're the most no-nonsense person I know.." Draco paused, and added, "And…intimidating. You're also the most intimidating person I know."

"What?" Her shock preceded her anger.

Draco shrugged. "I've always been intimidated by you…I mean, broken noses aside. You're really…intelligent."

She narrowed her eyes.

"What? It's a compliment!"

Hermione let out a sigh. "I don't understand, Draco. Why are you being so…nice to me? And then, paradoxically, why are you trying to get a rise out of me?"

Draco kept quiet, his jaws clenched.

"Honestly, Granger, if you want to leave, you can. It's not like I fancy you, or need your company desperately, far from it…"

"Okay, then," Hermione said coldly. But she made no move to leave the table- she sat still, willing her presence to make him more uncomfortable.

Mlafoy sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that-"

"I do. You're an arse."

"- but I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to say-" Draco struggled with his words, and half-spat out, "that you're _not_ fanciable, you are- I mean. You look very nice right now. I meant to say that a while back."

"Thank you for that. My self esteem has soared, my existence has been validated. Really. Thanks," Hermione said contemptuously. Once again, she made a movement to rise out of her seat.

"Don't go, please. Please." He held her back by the hand again, and looked her in the eye. "Don't you think there's some hope for us…beyond mere acquaintances who dislike each other? Can't we attempt at…normalcy? Friendship? Can't we?"

Hermione tried to concentrate in forming a word. It was normally effortless, but that was without the unfamiliar pressure around her wrist…warm, firm.

"Yes."

Draco let go of her hand, and gave a small smile. Like her, he too looked slightly flushed. They stared down at the table for several moments, before Hermione took out her purse. "I should probably settle the Galleons…"

But Malfoy was quicker. "Nice try, Granger." His smirk back, he got up and went behind to the bar, and paid the owner. They stepped back out through the 'Staff Only' door, and stood apart, waiting.

"How are you getting home? Do you need me to…"

"No thanks, apparating the way I came. And besides, I might look odd accompanied by a man dressed in wizard robes."

Draco smiled. It was the first time Hermione fully appreciated how good he looked, when he smiled without malice or arrogance. And then, he did something surprising. He stepped forward and tilted his head- almost as if he was going to kiss her cheek, and withdrew abruptly at the last second.

"Uh- sorry- I didn't mean to-" Red-faced with embarrassment, Draco took a deep breath, and said, "I'll see you at work then, Granger." With a swish of his robes, he turned and walked into the Gent's Toilet.

Hermione stayed rooted where she was. Slowly, she made her way into the Ladies' Toilet, where there was no one. She leaned against the wall, watching her reflection in the mirror. Her hand rose and ran down her cheeks, observing how pink they looked, and how wild her eyes were. Exhaling slowly, Hermione tried not to think about how much, in that very moment, she had wanted to feel his lips on her face.


	3. Indecisions

4.

During dinner, Dr. and Dr. Grangers' further advice and admonishments wafted over Hermione's head, as she chewed dinner distractedly, her eyes far, far away.

Night was a heavenly reprieve. Alone, with nothing but her thoughts and herself, Hermione stared at the ceiling in contemplation. Twice, she wrapped her fingers around her wrist; just to imagine that wonderful, warm pressure she had felt when Draco held her hand.

_What about Ron?_

The voice in her head persisted. She wanted to ignore it, but soon it was impossible- because the mere thought of Ron flooded her mind with all sorts of memories- the way he smelled of a seemingly incompatible, but irresistible combination of fresh laundry and musk; the way he wrapped his arms around her, to bring her close; the feel of his taut neck against her cheek; the binding way in which he kissed her- as if simply kissing her and never letting go would dissolve the universe around, until it was the two of them left…

Hermione got up, and opened her window slightly. The room was already cold, but as she massaged her neck and pressed her palms to her cheeks, she realized she was feeling uncomfortably warm.

So. This was the reality of her situation: a mere evening after getting to know a little bit more about a boy who she had once loathed, who had debased and tormented her and her best friends, who had come close to killing the people she loved- she had become attracted to him.

More than anything, Hermione feared analyzing the attraction, feared that it might be more than his touch or his looks- for if it was, the problem was far deeper than she could have thought, and not one she felt she could manage.

The guilt started to slowly trickle. It thickened and flowed and nestled around her heart, and her mind began to shout at her, at the absurdity of what she was thinking and feeling. Ron and her _had_ fought…and it hadn't been like their usual, petty quarrels. It had been serious…and though she missed him- even more, now that her thoughts seemed to feature Draco as much- she felt a mental resistance, every time she thought about visiting the Burrow and 'setting things right'-

And yet-

How could she picture her life without him there? To make her laugh, to make her furious…to make her endeared to his immaturity, and grateful for the constant comfort his presence provided her? Ronald Weasley, her best friend of nearly a decade. And she was considering leaving him…for whom?

She remembered a quote, by a poet she had forgotten…_Unless you love someone, nothing else makes sense. _Surely nothing as small as a temporary bout of irrationality was worth giving Ron up over. Surely, nothing.

Hugging her pillow tight, Hermione decided, determined. She would visit Ron soon, everything would be okay; her madness would disappear, and everything would make sense again.

It had to.


	4. Vera's Advice

5.

"Ooh, look at you! Did a gentleman keep you up all last night?"

"Shut up, Vera," Hermione said half-heartedly.

"Dark eyes, slouched gait, tired voice…either the Ministry's overworking you, or someone already did…god, is that a love-bite?"

"What?"

"Nah, you've got a little pink thing by your jaw…I think it's jam. Right there." Vera motioned to a spot on Hermione's chin.

"Oh. Thanks."

Hermione bent her head slightly and wiped of the jam with the back of her hand; when she looked back up, Vera Hixson had comfortably positioned herself cross-legged on Hermoine's desk, staring at her with dark purple eyes.

"Well? Are you going to tell me, or will I have to rely on office gossip by the water-cooler?"

Hermione sighed.

Vera Hixson was a top-notch Auror, who'd passed out of Hogwarts two years before the Battle, and had eventually fled England with her Muggle father. Her mother, who was a witch, had stayed behind to protect her side of the family, and had safely survived Voldemort's 'Undesirable' killing spree. Vera had grown up in the city of London with her father, who point-blank refused leaving the comforts of his Muggle world for a wizarding village. She loved her city, and her habit of using Muggle phrases and references had made her a bit of an oddity within the Ministry, but she would've been an oddity even without her background. She had a bizarre, bark-like laugh, and a way of walking where she would swing her narrow hips from side to side. Her silky-black, short and layered hair framed the pale-contours of her face messily- her eyes were always either twitching from one side to another, or eerily fixed, as they were now on Hermione's face.

"Weren't Ravenclaws supposed to be above petty rumour-seeking?"

"Sweetheart, I'm not above _anything_. Watch out for any drink I offer you…might just slip in a little Veritaserum." She let out one of her short barks, and Hermione had a fleeting sense of déjà vu, of another brilliant Auror who used to be as crazy as her.

"So anyway, I heard last evening…" Vera dropped her voice, "Draco _Malfoy_? Nice. Is it a keep-your-enemies-closer thing, or you've really gotten over all the shit he did?"

"Vera…" Hermione said, warningly. But she knew that once Vera started, there was no way to stop her.

"What? Don't act like I'm your garden-variety nosy parker, we both know that besides Potter, I'm the only friend you have here."

"That is _totally_-"

"-TRUE." Vera cut Hermione off. "Friends are counted as people you interact with _outside_ of a need for upholding societal conventions. Come off it, you're fond of me, I know you are," she said, waggling her finger. Hermione laughed.

"So? Tell me. Over his shit or not?"

"Well…Flavius Langley certainly is, seeing as how he hired him to the squad, and if a department head thinks it appropriate-"

'Yeah, but I didn't ask about him, did I? I asked about you. You don't have to be so bloody diplomatic," she said lightly, "there's no one I can rat you out to."

"Ha ha. Alright. He's okay now. I mean, he's genuinely…remorseful, I suppose. He wants to make amends. He's patched things up with Harry, and we're alright too now. That's the only reason I went out with him, he wanted to talk about being 'normal' again. Umm. I don't know if…well, yes. I think I _can_ trust him. In fact, he seems like one of the most honest people I've talked to in a really, really long while."

"Not to mention he's looks yummy now."

"Vera!" Hermione couldn't help note, disturbed, that she was not the only one who had noticed. Well, all the more reason to get over… whatever it was she was feeling for him.

"You know it, c'mon. Don't worry, he's all yours. I don't like blondes." Vera winked.

"Yeah well. It doesn't matter…I have someone. Do you know Ronald Weasley?"

"Obviously I've heard of him. You and he are steady, then? Interesting. Might not have badgered you about Draco if I'd known. Well actually," Vera grinned, "I might've anyway."

"Hermione! Come over here." Harry's voice called out from inside the maze of cubicles.

Vera stood up on the desk, craning her neck. "Ooh. He's not a bad looker."

'Who, Harry?' asked Hermione, amused. "You're so weird, Vera, honestly…"

"I'm not talking about Potter, you dolt. There's a redhead with him. Oh."

Vera looked down at Hermione. "I think that's Ronald Weasley."

"Oh." Hermione, who had risen from her chair, slumped back down again.

"That's sweet of him, visiting his girlfriend at work. Oi," she said, looking at Hermione's face, "what's the problem?"

Reluctantly, seeing no point in lying (and dreading if Vera caught her in one), Hermione answered, "We had a fight. Two weeks ago."

There was silence, and Hermione watched as Vera kept silence, presumably battling her urge to tease Hermione all over again.

"Well then. You have to go over now, don't you? Patch up? Unless…' and here, Vera trailed off suggestively.

"There is no 'unless'. I have to go."

"To be honest, sweetheart…it doesn't look like you want to."

Hermione looked down at herself, arms hugging her legs, chin propped up on her knees.

"Look. You do have to meet him, and clear things up. That has to happen, and you know it as well as I do. So I'm going to tell you something you might not know, as impossible as that seems."

Hermione smiled slightly.

"There is no script."

"I don't get it. What?"

"There is no script. You are not obligated to do or feel anything because you think you have to, because it's the 'right' thing to do. Neither does Ronald. Both of you are humans. Humans change. The point of a relationship is the other person, not the relationship itself. So don't drag this out for any other reason, other than if you actually…well, for lack of a better word, love him."

There was silence.

Finally, Hermione spoke. "So…are you going to introduce an Agony Aunt column in the Daily Prophet anytime soon?" Vera punched her playfully in the arm, rolling her eyes.

Smiling, Hermione got up, feeling a little braver.

"I think that actually helped, Vera…you were actually helpful. Thank you."

"Yeah well. Just don't tell anyone, I have a reputation to keep (Hermione snorted). Now, off you go."

She gave Hermione a little shove, and Hermione stumbled unsteadily out of her cubicle.


	5. Decisions

6.

"How's your work at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

"Yeah, business is going well, I haven't done that much though. It kinda runs itself. George…works from the Burrow, mostly. I've heard it's been mostly breezy this month for the Aurors, except for a couple of incidents here and there. But Harry tells me you've been working like a maniac."

"Not a maniac, I've just been doing what I'm supposed to, really. You wouldn't believe some of the loopholes in magical legislation concerning detainment of wizards and witches- it's _ridiculous_. These articles haven't been updated since the 17th century, I'm surprised no one just takes the time to read the law and figure out what they can get away with. It took me a week just to identify the problems- not solve them, just identify them. And then I read this interesting case study about Pulchria Juster, a witch in the 1920s, who took the perfect advantage of Article 762, before it's amendment in 1932- she hexed fifteen people at once, in a crowd in Upper Flagley, but they didn't have any case against her, because- oh. Sorry." Hermione bowed her head, jaws clenched.

"What? Why did you stop? Tell me, I want to hear more."

"It's not really what we came to talk about. I don't want to turn the small talk into the main conversation…it would be avoiding the elephant in the room."

'I'm sorry, avoiding the what?"

Hermione gave a small grin. Vera was getting to her. Shaking her head, she said, "Nothing."

"So," Ronald Weasley cleared his throat awkwardly. His hair had grown- it fell across his forehead in lovely red waves, and he ran his hand through it absentmindedly. He was wearing dull, silver robes that were turned up at his wrists to reveal plum-colored lining. His clear blue eyes strayed over Hermione every few seconds, but he always turned back to the ground at the last second, unable to make eye contact.

'Can I go first?" he asked.

"Okay."

They were standing in the hallway by the elevators. People poured out at random intervals by their side, or pushed past ahead or behind them in the long corridor. And in the middle of the entire bustle, Ron and Hermione stood, alone in their strange island of quiet.

"I was thinking about what you said to me, when you- when we fought. About how we've also never had much time away from each other's company. And I've made a decision."

He paused. And it that pause, Hermione felt everything- her utter ambivalence; her feeling of dread at odds with her feeling of excitement, and the knowledge that she was shamefully unsure what would bring her relief- continuing their relationship, or Ron ending it.

"I think we should give each other some space for a while. Officially. I don't think we should end anything, but if this is what is going to happen if we're never apart, all this fighting- I think we should really cool off. Get some perspective, I dunno. What do you think? What do you want?"

A part of Hermione had anticipated this, but that didn't stop her from feeling a sharp stab of pain as he spoke. Cool off? What had the past two weeks been, then? She opened her mouth to speak all the retorts that had entered her mind, and closed her mouth again. She looked into Ron's eyes, and he looked into hers, and she knew in that moment he was just as scared as she was. Of changing whatever they had.

"What do you want?" Ron repeated.

"I want you-" she stopped abruptly, seeing a familiar shade of white-blonde hair in the periphery of her sight. Hermione turned and locked eyes with Draco who had stepped out of the elevator, and for an instant, saw the blank shock on his face as he looked from her to Ron.

When he turned to Ron, the shock had been replaced with a sneer. "Get a room, the two of you." Shoving past Ron, without a glance at Hermione- as if their conversation last evening had never happened- he walked away.

Ron looked furious. "That git. That bloody git. What the hell is he doing here? I hope he's going for his own hearing."

"No…he works here, " Hermione said quietly. She folded her arms across her chest, feeling the hurt of what Draco had just done. "Never mind him, Ron. I was saying- I want you to do whatever you want to. Whatever that is. And I'll go with it. If I have a problem, I'll speak my mind, but for now- if this is what you feel we need, I'm alright with it. I agree with it."

"Okay."

More silence. A plump witch cheerfully pushed them apart and said, "You're blocking the way, dearies," before moving on.

"Well, I have a lot of work to do-"

"Yeah, I should get going too."

They hugged awkwardly, and Ron patted her on the back. Smiling one last time, he got into an elevator. Hermione watched him fidget as the grates closed, and waved him bye. And she remained where she was, for several moments, inexplicably rooted.


	6. Interlude

7.

"Harry?" Hermione stood leaning against the cubicle wall, noticing Harry's eyes widen.

"Yeah, Hermione?" he asked carefully, half-rising from his desk. For several days, Hermione had buried herself in work, talking to no one. Vera and Harry had eventually taken the hint, and had stopped trying to engage her in conversation (Vera, with some difficulty). No one dared ask her anymore if she was alright. Instead, everyone spoke to her gently, and treated her as if she was something fragile.

"Someone has to brief the Squad on the new report, right?"

"Yeah. Standard procedure. I think it's a waste of time, personally- they're all literate. But yeah. Why, is there something that needs correcting?"

"No. I wanted to be the one to brief them. Can I?"

"It's grunt-level work, trust me, I'll just send Maxwell or Cressida to take care of it-"

"Can I?" Hermione repeated, insisting. Confused, Harry stared at her for several moments.

"Of course. I told Flavius someone will be there in the next five minutes…do you have a copy?"

Hermione nodded, and walked away. Reaching her cubicle, she picked up a thick sheaf of papers, and exhaled. She was so sick of people. She was sick of everyone treating her like porcelain, as if she were something that could be dropped and broken beyond repair any second. What she wanted was someone she could talk to, someone who could, for a refreshing change, be honest. And there was only one person Hermione could think of.

7. (i)

After the briefing, Squad members heaved themselves from their chairs and returned to work, some drowsily so. Only one person stayed behind in his chair as the room emptied. There was only one person who had not taken a single note, and there was only one person who had not taken his eyes off Hermione's face. She bowed her head, sorting the papers in front of her.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?" Draco replied a little too quickly, a little too anticipatorily. Ordinarily, this would have bothered Hermione. She would have brooded over this for ages, trying to figure out what it meant. But right now, it didn't matter.

"You and I need to talk."

He didn't ask why, but then, she hadn't expected him to. Instead, Draco asked evenly, "Same place as last time, or-"

"No. Your place, tonight. And you'll need to give me directions."


	7. Apartment 24R

8.

Coat collar turned up, Hermione arrived at the empty construction site of an apartment building. A strong gust of wind threatened to rip her umbrella out of her hand. Taking a few moments, she surveyed the complex. It was grey, half-built, and reeked of disrepair. Wire fencing ran around the entire perimeter, and upon the gate hung a foreboding sign: SITE OFF-LIMITS. TRESSPASSERS WILL BE SUBJECT TO PROSECUTION. Hermione smiled, not knowing why, and the movement reminded her how stiff her cheeks were, and how numbing the cold was. Eager to get inside, she pointed her wand at the padlock, and said, '_Alohamora'_.

Closing the gate behind her, she hurried through the empty frame of the main doorway, tapping her wand twice on the wall as she did so. Hermione then pushed open a large set of dusty, hefty double doors, and as they swung noisily behind her, she laid her eyes on the most extraordinary housing complex she had ever seen in her life.

There were no stairs. The apartment doors, identically shaped, were piled higgledy-piggledy on the wall, one on top of the other- in stacks that towered to an incredible height, touching a cathedral-like ceiling. Doormats floated atop many doors, fixed to their respective apartments, and garbage bins hovered precariously. As Hermione took a step on the dull brown carpet, she saw her shoe leave a deep red footprint. She took another step, and another footprint appeared. Utterly bewildered, she stayed stationary, rethinking her decision to meet Draco. The more she thought, the more she couldn't believe how stupid she'd been. Her colleagues would inevitably find out she'd visited him, Harry would hear too- he would tell Ron, and then all the Weasleys would know- and everyone would think she's crazy. For the life of her, she couldn't understand what had possessed her in the first place, to come here and-

BANG!

Two giggling witches holding hands burst through the double doors and fell on top of Hermione, the sound of their entrance echoing loudly. Apologising, they straightened their pointed hats, walked to the third column of stacked doors, and one of them, still clearly in hysterics, managed to wheeze, "5 C." They slowly levitated up to their designated door, and Hermione watched as they tried to find their key. Their sets of footprints faded as soon as they got inside.

Trying to understand the mechanism, Hermione walked ahead, searching for Draco's column. When she reached a stack of doors with the letter R, she looked around, and whispered, "24 R". Suddenly, Hermione clutched her umbrella tight, as she found herself rising higher and higher. Looking for something to steady herself, she found nothing- until she stopped elevating. Suspended in mid-air, she squinted at the tiny silver numerals on the door in front of her. XXIV. The door opened, and Draco said, "Come inside."

As soon as Hermione stepped over the threshold, she felt gravity start to work again. She shrugged off her heavy coat, under which she was wearing a wide-necked lilac top and jeans. Her hair had been wound on top of her hair into a bun, and she took a moment to shake it loose now that she was inside. Draco was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Still holding her coat and umbrella, Hermione waited by the door, unsure of what to do. Her eyes roamed over his dwellings. The furnishings were Spartan, but the apartment itself was warm. Thick curtains hung over the windows, and Hermione's shoes had sunk half a centimeter into the soft carpet. The scheme was monochrome- black and white. She spotted a large bookshelf behind his dark sofa, laden with an assortment of books- books that ranged from hardbound to paperback, and seemed to represent every shade in the rainbow spectrum. The effect of the colorful shelf against the sameness of the room was startling- and Hermione found herself intrigued.

Draco reappeared from an adjacent room. He was wearing a grey, long-sleeved vest over bright blue trousers. Striding towards her, he said, "Give me that."

He took her belongings, hung them on a nearby stand, and looked back at her. "Well? Aren't you going to sit?"

Both of them settled on the sofa, and an uneasy silence prevailed for several moments.

"I heard about you and Weasley."

Hermione turned her head sharply towards Draco. "How? How is that even _possible_? How does everyone know every sordid detail about my private life, as if-" Unable to find words, Hermione threw her hands up in frustration.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" Draco asked, hesitantly.

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh. "You _amaze_ me. Are you really going to talk about Ron like everything's _okay_? That you and I are _normal_? See, a couple evenings back, I was under the impression that we should try and be 'friends', and unless I'm mistaken, friends don't interrupt personal conversations and tell each other to 'get a room'-"

"Well, how would you have explained it to Weasley, then?"

"What?" Hermione frowned, caught off-guard. Draco, seizing the moment, pushed ahead. "How would you have explained me to Weasley, if I'd just said hi and smiled at you and ignored him?" He continued sarcastically, switching to a high pitch, "Oh, by the way Ronald, dear Draco and I buried our hatchet of seven years of absolute hatred for each other, and now we're besties."

Hermione stared at him, open-mouthed. Draco gave a smirk, which quickly disappeared as she grabbed the nearest pillow and began hitting him hard on the shoulder. "You're _ridiculous_! _That's_ your excuse for behaving like a complete _moron_? To make things _easier_ for me with Ron?"

"You're hitting me with a _pillow,_ in _my_ house, and _I'm_ the one who's ridiculous?" Draco yelled, shielding himself from the blows. Hermione stopped, and dropped the pillow to the side. Her hair was now wild, and she tucked a few strands behind her ear.

"But you still haven't answer me. What you've told me is, at best, pathetic rationalization. Look, I just-" Hermione paused, taking a deep breath. "I just want to talk to someone who'll be honest with me."

There was a long silence.

"Is that why you came here? To talk to someone who'd be honest with you?"

"Yes." She looked at Draco, half-expecting him to sneer again like he did at Ron; to tell her she'd been mistaken, that everything he'd told her was a lie. She waited for him to make it easier to leave. Instead, he looked up at her with a strange expression on his face, as if trying to gauge something.

"I mentioned Weasley very flippantly that evening at the pub, to annoy you. And I wish I hadn't, because I didn't mean to. I don't regard him in a flippant way, at all. I regard him seriously, because I dislike him and I don't think he deserves you. And if what I heard about the two of you is true, then I guess I'm right. He never has. I suppose I-," Draco shrugged, "I just wanted to make him mad. To be honest, I don't regret it at all. It made you come here, and talk to me."

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin, grim line, and raised her head to look directly at Draco, to tell him how angry she was. But there was frightening electricity between their eyes; a magnetism she couldn't hold. She lowered her gaze and focused on the hem of his vest, noticing that it was, unhelpfully, almost the exact same shade as his irises.

"You have no right. You have no right to say that about Ron."

"That's debatable."

Hermione jerked her head up again, seeing the familiar, mocking smile spread slowly across his face. She felt a tug in her chest.

"It's not debatable. It really isn't. Did you actually think it would take some sort of- god, I don't know- _provocation_? For me to talk you again?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, what you did was probably the most half-witted thing I've ever experienced in my life. And I've studied under Sybill Trelawney."

'That's…that's harsh, but alright, fair enough."

There was a small pause. Hermione said, "You're shameless, do you know that?"

Draco shifted a little nearer to where she was sitting, and leaned close. Her eyes widened; she clenched her fists involuntarily.

"Definitely," he answered quietly.

Letting out a soft sigh, Hermione shook her head. "Well, I suppose I have to thank you for being honest."

"Yes. I think the pillow had a considerable role in persuading me."

Unable to help it, Hermione broke into a smile. Draco chuckled, and said, "Can I interest you in Firewhisky?"

"You drink?"

"How else do you think I live with myself?" he asked lightly.

"Ha ha. Okay. Let's have it."

With a lazy flick of his wand, Draco summoned a stout, unopened bottle and two wine glasses. Hermione watched him as he opened the seal and began to carefully pour the amber liquid. She was acutely aware that she and Ron were on a 'break', and that technically, there were no strings holding her back from pursuing her attraction towards Draco. She wondered if Draco had realized the same thing- if, indeed, he was even attracted to her in the first place. But when he handed the wine glass to her, their fingertips brushed, and for a moment, he looked quite deliberately into her eyes. The moment vanished, and Draco raised his glass. 'Bottoms up, as they say?"

"I'm quite sure they only say that for beer."

"Tomay-to, tomah-to."

Draco took a long draught as Hermione watched. Emboldened, she took a gulp. She felt the drink blister, coursing through her throat and leaving a fiery trail. Heat sprang inside her. Gasping, she looked up at Draco. "How on earth did you do that?"

Smirking, he said, "Years of practice."

"But we're only nineteen years old."

Draco raised an eyebrow, and Hermione let out another laugh. "Okay, okay. Got it."

They exchanged an engaging volley of questions and retorts and jokes, and in this way, the minutes turned to hours. After a particularly embarrassing interrogation on Pansy Parkinson (throughout which Draco had remained tight-lipped, albeit slightly pink), he protested. "Change of topic, change of topic."

"Fine. Your bookshelf."

"What about it?" Arrogantly, Draco questioned, "Do you doubt my ability to read? Think that I'm showing off?"

"Something like that."

He grinned again, and the warmth in Hermione's cheeks intensified.

"Well, half of them aren't mine ('I knew it!")- they belong to the owner, the one who rents this place out to me. She's big on fiction, which I never read. Mine are all the travel books. Magical landmarks and stuff like that. Top three shelves. Those and The Daily Prophet, only things I read these days."

"Wow." Hermione attempted to stretch behind the sofa and pick out a book, but suddenly felt very disoriented. Instead, she contented herself by running her fingers over some of the spines. "Fascinating."

Rolling his eyes, Draco replied, "I dread to see what you find boring then, Granger."

"Be careful. I have a lethal pillow, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"As opposed to your harmless wand, you mean?"

"Right…that thing." Hermione giggled, then gave a small hiccup. Draco looked on, amused.

"You've barely had a few sips the past hour, and you're behaving like a drunk already. You can't hold your liquor at all, can you?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"_No_, it isn't. Don't do anything stup-"

But as he said so, Hermione seized her drink and downed it in a go. Gripping the glass by its stem, she turned to Draco with a slight grin on her face; but the grin quickly turned to horror. She dropped her Firewhisky and clutched at her throat.

"Burns," she rasped.

'I told you not to do anything stupid!' Draco hissed, furious. "Remove your hand from your throat, now!"

Hermione choked, incoherent.

"_Now_!"

Hermione felt the tip of his wand touch her throat, and heard him say, '_Benumbify_'.

For a curious instant, she was aware that she could feel absolutely nothing where, before, the liquid had spread like molten iron. And then she felt a slow, mild, ebbing heat that took its place. It was uncomfortable, but she could tolerate it.

Draco put a firm arm around her shoulder, while Hermione continued to gasp for several seconds.

"Who drinks Firewhisky in _one_ go? It's a positively _ancient_ bottle- unimaginably strong for an amateur like you. What the hell were you trying to prove?"

Hermione tried to focus on how angry his voice sounded, rather than the warmth of his muscle on her back, holding her steady. She wished the Firewhisky had given her that kind of gentle, feverish experience- instead of the burning hell her throat had been.

"On the bright side," she croaked, "we both got turns to call each other stupid." Without thinking, she rested her head against his chest.

Immediately, she felt him stiffen beneath her, and knew with a sinking feeling that she had made a terrible mistake. She made a movement to rise from the sofa, when, incredibly, she felt his other arm go around her too.

They stayed that way without speaking a word for a long time, Hermione enveloped by Draco. Once, she thought she felt him inhale her hair, but she couldn't be sure. She couldn't be sure of anything. It was the most dream-like she had ever felt in her life.

Eventually, it was her who broke the silence. "I should leave now."

Draco withdrew his arms, and both of them stood up. His grey eyes found her brown pair; and when they did, his were unfathomable. "Can you Apparate on your own?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

He unhooked her coat and umbrella from the stand, and handed them to her, almost perfunctorily. She took them and turned the knob of his door, opening it.

"Draco, goodni-"

He grabbed her left wrist hard and pulled her inside, to him. She gave a little gasp of surprise as she stumbled forward, palms steadying her against his chest. Hermione didn't dare to think what he would do next. Instead, she wondered if she had felt his quickening heartbeat, if only for an instant.

"We're twenty-four doors high, remember?"

Flushed, she nodded, jaws clenched. Of course. Was it possible for her to be any more illogical in one night?

"Ground floor." he said clearly. "That should do it. 'Night, Granger." He released her, and she stepped backwards onto air, still facing him. Slowly, Hermione started to descend, all the while never once taking her eyes off Draco, who stood leaning on the doorway frame, arms crossed. As her feet touched the floor, she took one last look at his dark silhouetted figure, high above, and made her way back to the coldness outside.


End file.
